


On The Inside

by slashsailing



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 05:43:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashsailing/pseuds/slashsailing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble wherein Jim has suffers with bulimia due to his experiences on Tarsus IV but as always Bones is there to make things better because he's a doctor, dammit, and head over heels in love with the damn kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Inside

**Author's Note:**

> A rather self-indulgent cathartic exercise wherein Jim suffers from bulimia, taken from my own experiences and therefore may be potentially triggering. Be warned but maybe enjoy?

“Jim!” Bones calls, twisting the knob on the bathroom door but it’s locked. Of course it’s locked. Out of habit, or hope maybe, he twists it again. It’s frantic this time, like it might just unlock from sheer physical force. Why the bathroom doors of cadet quarters don’t have electronic locking systems Bones will never know. Just when he most needs it his medical override is useless. “Please Jim, don’t do this.”

There’s no answer just the sound of retching dimmed by the barrier of the door. Jim used to stop when he’d hear Bones enter his dorm but now he just musters through. Bones sighs and turns his back against the door, sliding down against the wall, holding his head in his hands. He wishes he could make this better, make the world safe for Jim to exist in. Make Jim see that this isn’t all his fault, that he can’t take control for everything, that it isn’t his responsibility. But Bones is just as powerless and Jim. Then there’s the flush of the toilet, the sound of the taps running and soon enough Jim crawls out of the room. His hands cold and pink from where he’s scrubbed at them under the cold spray, lips chapped like usual. He shuffles close to Bones’ body heat and the doctor pulls Jim closer, arm tight around his shoulders. Jim’s face is turned into Bones’ collar to hide his red rimmed irises, irises so blue that Bones want’s to drown in them, to sink into their depths and never have to face the world again.

They just breathe together for a moment. _Just breathe._

“I’m sorry.” Bones says. He heard about the _Tarsus IV_ lecture and the abhorrent way it was handled from Mitchell and he imagined the fallout might end up looking something like this. That’s why he needed to get out of the clinic and home to Jim. Jim had been in ‘recovery’ for the last six weeks, although Bones hated the term recovery. As a doctor it should be common placed but it seemed too clinical for what Jim was facing, for how deep his scars ran. It always came back to Tarsus. That’s how it started, and it would inevitably be the most potent trigger of all. Of course months of near-starvation would warp anyone’s view of food but Bones thinks Jim turned to bulimia out of some misplaced guilt. Jim is so deeply devastated by the lives lost on Tarsus that he feels like eating is in some way disrespectful, even after all these years. Of course, the need for control is rampant inside Jim as well. When his world spirals outside the bounds he carefully sets this is one way he can regain control, maintain it, grasp onto it with both hands and cling to it. And this is the one area of his life where any semblance of control was brutally stripped from him during all those months on Tarsus. In some ways bulimia is like retaliation.

Jim sniffles slightly then shrugs. “I just–”

Bones has known about Jim’s bulimia since their second semester, they’re now in their second year and yet they’ve had the same post-purge conversation about four hundred times. Jim explains how much being out of control scares him, how losing control means losing lives, and how if he can just do this, just this _one_ thing, he can quiet the storm inside his head. If he can step on the scale and see that he’s lighter than he was the previous day then he can feel like he hasn’t forgotten them. He doesn’t want to forget those who starved to death on Tarsus and _eating_ , eating feels like forgetting. It feels like betrayal.

“It’s alright Jim.” Bones sighs. “We just have to start again, right, start over?”

“Right.” Jim nods weakly, turning his head to kiss Bones’ stubble. “Minty fresh.” He assures and Bones’ chuckles.

“You want to curl up on the sofa?” Bones wonders, but he shifts to pull Jim closer to him making no move to actually get up.

“Aren’t you meant to be on clinic duty?” Jim asks.

“I told Boyce I had a family emergency, I’ve taken the Sunday night shift instead.” Bones says. “And it’s Friday, you’re classes are finished for the week.”

Bones thinks that Boyce may have his relationship with Jim sussed. They are more than just friends. Most people take it for granted, they think Bones and Jim come as this uncompromising unit but they don’t really understand. Bones _loves_ Jim, that much he is certain of and Jim loves Bones in return, and tenfold. They are what they are, and whatever that is it doesn’t need to be defined by pet names or signed contracts. It’s deep. It’s so co-dependent that for a while Bones had to reassure Jim that he still had full entitlement to his own life and that Bones didn’t need or demand the control Jim had placed into his hands. But he can’t deny he doesn’t revel in it. The trust, the love. Bones basks in Jim because he cannot bask in the warm Georgia sun. Jim shines brighter anyhow. And Jim seems settled with him, seems comfortable to share the responsibility over his fate with Bones. Because Bones is careful with Jim’s control, gives him a wide birth when he needs it and holds his hand when he doesn’t.

“You shouldn’t have to do that, drop your life for me.” Jim huffs. “People might need you tonight.”

“You need me tonight.” Bones counters softly. “There are other doctors.”

“Not as good as you. There’s only one of you, Bones.” Jim states while linking their fingers together. Bones can see the purple indentation of teeth and he rubs his thumb over the crescent shaped bruise to try and even it out again. He knows it doesn’t work like that, he’s a doctor dammit, but he’s obliged to try anyway. It’s a compulsion, much like Jim’s compulsion to make the marks in the first place. Bones brings Jim’s hand to his lips, kissing over his red raw knuckles.

“And I’m yours, kid.” 


End file.
